


Debris

by TheDivineComedian



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen, space family angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 19:30:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10928505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDivineComedian/pseuds/TheDivineComedian
Summary: On Yavin IV, underneath the cloud of debris that was once the Death Star, some stories end while others begin. Hera Syndulla discovers a glimpse of something terrible in a recording from the recent battle, but she needs more data. The Princess of Alderaan and her new-found friends are an unexpected help.





	Debris

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally posted to ff.net on 03-31-17.) So going by Rogue One, we can make the argument that Hera was around at some point during the battle of Yavin IV. This fic is the result of me wondering what happened to the rest of the Ghost crew between Rebels and ANH. Nothing good, I presume (see fic for details - while I'd love to see e.g. Kanan take up gardening on a nice backwater planet, I have a feeling it's not going to happen.) I also re-watched ANH recently and thought Leia might have some baggage that she didn't get to sort through in the aftermath of Yavin IV. So this fic sort of happened.

After some deliberation, Hera decided it was beautiful.

She half wished she didn't know what it was. The expanding, blooming cloud illuminating the night sky over Yavin IV was of an ethereal beauty. The sight resonated, she thought, with that fundamental yearning that so many sentient species shared, that impulse that had originally made them go out and explore the galaxy. And even though she _knew_ what the cloud was – a trillion deadly fragments, some metal, some toxic, some radioactive, all reflecting the light off the gas giant – it was beautiful. And it was terrible. And it served them right.

The beautiful and the terrible were so close together these days; you could hardly get one without the other. Where there was hope, there was danger. Where there was integrity, there was betrayal.

Where there was family, there was death.

You had to snatch these moments, she thought, you had to look up into the night sky, lit up by a swirling cloud of metal and destruction, and you had to find the beauty there, and you had to heed the warnings. Or you'd forget what you were fighting for.

This last week especially, Hera thought. Rogue One eliminated. Death Star plans captured. Alderaan obliterated. Death Star destroyed. The sheer speed of events made her think something else was yet to come. Something big.

Up here, in the observation room, a few officers and an army of droids were still on duty, even if protocol had been loosened a bit. Downstairs, the ceremony had long since turned into a party, and Hera was deliberately, effortfully, not blaming them. It _had_ been a huge victory, maybe even a turning point. They'd struck the Empire where it _hurt_.

And maybe, like a hurt animal, the Empire was getting ready to lash out. Maybe the Emperor was getting ready to throw a right royal tantrum. These days, the blind rages of the Sith were not the stuff of legends anymore.

"There goes another one!" shouted one lieutenant from the satellite console when a huge green-and-red sparkler zoomed past outside the large windows.

"Eight kilos of luggage per person," said another, "twelve people to a cabin. And they bring _fireworks_." To Hera, however, it reminded her of nothing more than an old Sabine job – ancient history now – when she had converted a proton torpedo because a certain squadron had been in desperate need of a sparkly distraction.

The observation crew was meant to be scanning the night sky for signs of an incoming Imperial army. But it seemed that Fulcrum had gotten it right: The rest of the Imperial fleet was stationed at least four days away, proof of Grand Moff Tarkin's deadly confidence in his battle station. And with the current lunar phase, the complex gravitational interplay of Yavin and its twenty-three moons meant they'd have at least four hours before any ships falling out of lightspeed could get the base within firing range. They'd cleared a planet in half that time before.

Still, Hera wished the vote had gone differently, that they'd evacuate already. The Imperials knew they were here, and that alone made her hands itch for the hyperdrive lever.

And that was if you _didn't_ count what she'd seen in the battle records. She'd twice stopped herself from calling a Code Red, to clear the Yavin system before it was too late. The annoying thing was that it was just a _feeling_. A feeling that based on healthy paranoia and a low-res recording from one of their historic X-wings, but a feeling nonetheless.

And Hera Syndulla didn't make decisions based on feelings. That was why she had gone to the observation room in the first place – not to stare wistfully out of windows at the swirling ghost of a dying Death Star, but to utilize the sort of screen size you only got in a military observation room.

Unfortunately, what had been a handful of tiny pixels on the _Ghost_ 's flight screen turned out to be a handful of large pixels in the observation room, and no amount of fiddling with the contrast and intensity controls had made the details any clearer.

"Computer," she said. "Overlay video records from Red Five's astromech unit, starting 05:46:00."

"Negative," said the metallic computer voice. "Red Five astromech unit suffered direct hit at 05:51:12, causing retrograde memory corruption."

Another dead end. Hera started getting frustrated. She bet they'd had excellent and most of all, redundant video records on the Death Star – right up until the end, anyway.

"Overlay last sixty seconds of available video from Red Five astromech unit," she said.

"Overlaying video," said the computer. "05:40:19 to 05:41:18."

On the screen above her, another square window opened. Amazingly, the video recorded by the R2 unit was a lot clearer than the X-wing's built-in cameras had been. The astromech sported a wide-angle 3D camera – definitely not an original part – which it had pointed mainly at the rear, to cover what the X-wing cameras had been missing.

Again, she saw the pursuit in the Death Star canyon, Red Two and Red Three following suit. Again, she saw Red Three – Biggs – going up in flames, and then – finally! she thought – a close-up of the three TIE fighters in close pursuit.

Well, to be a little pedantic, there were two standard TIE/LN fighters and one heavily modified TIE Advanced X1 fighter. She got a really good view at the characteristic wing shape before the video collapsed into a soup of pixels.

Well, that proved it, then. He had not been on the Death Star.

For a moment, Hera just stared up, not taking in the screen, on which the chase for the Death Star thermal oscillator was playing in a loop.

"Computer," she said, after a while and with much deliberation. "Run pattern recognition for that TIE-A-X1 unit on all available datasets from the battle. Tell me where it was at time point 05:54:00."

The time at which Red Five landed the crucial hit. The time at which the Death Star exploded.

Their pattern recognition software was superb, its accuracy topped only by the algorithms implemented on the Star Destroyers' mainframes, and maybe a tiny bit faster. Still, it took almost a minute for the computer to return an unsatisfactory answer.

"Unknown," it said. "Last identification at 05:51:01, unknown collision damage."

"Show video," she said.

It turned out to be the video that had first raised her suspicions: a blur of pixels spiralling away, seemingly out of control… but then, a jerk, a change in vector…

"Calculate probability of TIE-A-X1 escaping Death Star explosion," said Hera. "Input variables: last known position, last known flight vector. Assume moderate damage to sublight repulsion, intact steering, energy eighty per cent, and, " she paused slightly, "assume perfect operator."

The computer thought for a while. "Probability of escape estimated at 5.4 per cent, confidence interval 1.1 to 8.7," it decided finally.

Hera leant back with a sigh. She didn't believe for a second that the TIE had been swallowed up in the explosion. Unfortunately, the battle computer didn't have a setting for operator capability beyond _perfect_. Like _prescient_. _Force-sensitive_.

 _Sith_.

Somewhere behind her came the sound of heavy doors opening.

"And this is our observation room," said a female voice. "I'm sorry you didn't get a chance to see this before we sent you off into battle. Our pilots usually get a more thorough briefing than that. But, you know. The schedule was a little tight."

It was the last person Hera would have expected at this time: Leia Organa, princess of Alderaan, and with her, she presumed, the three men she had picked up during her recent stint in an Imperial prison.

"Why are all these people still working?" said a younger male voice. Luke Skywalker, the wonder boy? "We got rid of the Death Star! What's there to observe?"

Definitely the wonder boy.

"Because the Empire still has the one or other Star Destroyer that might just stop by," said an older man, presumably the smuggler, who, as rumours had it, had turned the one or other head just by lounging around the base. His Wookie co-pilot roared a comment. "Chewie is right. They are a fair bit bigger than womp rats."

"I am never going to live that comment down, am I," said Luke. But it sounded good-naturedly enough.

Han laughed. "You didn't think people were gonna remember you for destroying the Death Star, did you? No, it's definitely Luke Skywalker, feared nemesis of womp rats."

"Our observation crew is watching the space around Yavin IV for unusual activity," explained the Princess in her usual diplomacy. "As well as the holo network. I should imagine it's on fire right now."

And it probably was. Maybe Hera had spent too many years of her life analysing Thrawn, but she wondered whether, were he still in charge of bringing down the rebellion, all news might be suppressed until he'd figured out a way to pretend there had never been a Death Star, and to blame the destruction of Alderaan on the Alliance.

"Hey, that's my X-wing!" said the wonder boy suddenly, much closer than before. Hera turned her head to see them standing right behind her, watching the video loop projected onto the overhead screen.

"Yeah, nice shot, kid," Hera said reflexively. He was what, nineteen? He deserved a pat on the head. Especially for _that_ trick shot. She had been really impressed seeing it for the first time, before that patch of pixels had taken over her attention.

Ezra would have been the same age, now. Empire day seemed to roll around faster every year.

"General Syndulla, it's good to see you" said the Princess. "I'm sorry, I must have missed you at the ceremony."

"Likewise, Princess Leia," said Hera. "I didn't stay long, there was some data from the battle that I wanted to look at."

"Anything interesting?" said the Princess. She did not seem as unhappy as Hera thought she ought to have been, but she _was_ oddly detached. If Hera didn't know her better, she'd swear the Princess was a little drunk. Hera wasn't blaming her.

Well, they'd discussed this with the command, so there was no point in causing panic now. So Hera just shrugged. "Just thought I saw something and it wouldn't leave me alone," she said. "Just a… You know. A feeling."

She hated saying it. It was such a Kanan thing to say. Hera Syndulla didn't follow her feelings, she followed rationality. And data. But in the Alliance, "a feeling" had become a handy excuse for just about everything you started obsessing over for no apparent reason, so hopefully she wouldn't have to explain too much.

"I see," said the Princess with an odd little laugh. "Where would the Alliance be without feelings. Well, I'd hate to see the party interrupted, but best let us know if anything important comes up."

The Princess' face had remained perfectly blank throughout, but next her, the kid seemed to have lit up with the "feeling" remark, oddly fascinated with the video loop.

"That TIE," he said, pointing one work-calloused hand at the screen Hera had been staring at for the past hour. "Why does it look different from all the others?"

Unexpectedly, it was Solo who answered. "It's a TIE-A-X1, kid," he said. "Elite fighter. Really expensive. Honestly, how did you manage to convince these peoples to give you a spacecraft?"

"Hey!"

To be quite honest, Hera had been asking herself the same thing before the battle, but they'd had an empty X-wing and an eager pilot and what they'd assumed was the late Obi-wan Kenobi's conviction that the kid was up to the task. Or at least, up to something. The Alliance couldn't be choosy.

Suddenly, all detachedness was gone from Leia's face. "A TIE-A-X1, you say?" she said, directing a suddenly considerable amount of attention on the screen. "How many of those are even left in the Imperial fleet, after Jedha and Scarif?"

"… We are thinking, about two," admitted Hera.

"So you are saying there is a fifty-fifty chance that this TIE was piloted by –" began the Princess.

"Darth Vader," said Hera. "Exactly." So much for not causing a panic.

"I know there was something odd about that pilot!" said the kid eagerly. "He _felt_ wrong."

But his voice petered out in the silence that followed, while the Princess was watching the video more intently. "Looks like the TIE is swallowed up in the explosion," the Princess said finally, her tone flat.

"Looks like it," agreed Hera. "But video proof of that would be extremely valuable."

The Wookie roared something. "How valuable?" asked the smuggler, who had been mostly silent up until now, but now had a calculating air about him.

"Captain Solo," said the Princess. "We both know that YT-1300s are not equipped with battle cameras, so _please_ -"

The pirate seemed to be smirking. "Certainly not with the finest battle cameras the black market can buy," he said. "How much for these recordings, General?"

"Han!" said the kid incredulously. " _Darth Vader_ might be sitting just behind Yavin for all we know. You can't just –"

Solo shrugged. "He'll have jumped to hyperspace hours ago if he knows what's good for him," he said. "There's a whole army stationed here armed to the teeth, and only one of him, last I counted."

"He won't," said Hera. "The hyperdrive in those TIE-As is an add-on and badly shielded, it'll have been damaged beyond repair if it was anywhere near the thermal oscillator when it went up."

The smuggler seemed unfazed by that information. "Well, then, if you feel that strongly about it – as I _mentioned_ , I might have some data to sell."

Hera glanced at the Princess, who now looked slightly exasperated. Then Hera sighed. "How about you give us those recordings, and in turn we _won't_ tell Jabba the Hutt you risked your ship and shipment to help our cause _for free_?"

There was a long and indignant silence, broken only by the Wookie, who made a sound that was very close to a snicker. "Well played, General," said Solo. "But how –"

"You were boasting about racing the Kessel run earlier," said Hera absent-mindedly, flipping a few switches. "That's a smuggler route. You picked these guys up on Tatooine. Who controls all smuggler routes between Kessel and the Outer Rim? Jabba the Hutt. And Jabba the Hutt being who he is, it is a safe bet you owe him money. Now if we could get those recordings, they are extremely important to the freedom of the galaxy from slavery and oppression."

The smuggler seemed impressed. Unfortunately, rather than get going, he had taken up a comfortable lounging position against the rough temple wall as he thought his options through.

The kid, who had been looking between the recording and Solo during the exchange, suddenly directed his attention to Hera, a comparatively sly expression on his face.

"General Syndulla," he said, "I was wondering if I could ask you a question?"

"Sure, kid," she said.

He fidgeted a little. "That X-wing I was given, it seemed really sort of personalized," he said. "And the helmet. I've never seen such a design. I was wondering who it belongs to."

At least he wasn't talking about having a _feeling_ again, Hera thought. Good. She could see those designs – a phoenix in flight – even with her eyes closed. This had been her life for so long.

The Princess seemed a bit uncomfortable. "Many great people lost their lives in the fight against the Empire, Luke," she said gently.

"Yeah, I know," said Luke, in the tone of someone just starting to understand the scope

of the situation he had gotten himself into. "But this one almost felt – powerful. If a thing can feel powerful. I mean, the lightsabre did when I first picked it up. But it is as if the person it belonged to hadn't been ready yet. Like there'd been a potential, maybe?"

Hera turned toward him, half intrigued, half weary. "Are you a Jedi, kid?" she said.

"I don't know, maybe?" conceded the kid, with a sincerity that made Hera hope he wasn't always this trusting. "But anyway, there isn't anyone else now, is there, since Master Kenobi is gone… Darth Vader, you know," he added on, as if that was an explanation.

It was.

"That X-wing and helmet belonged to a friend called Ezra Bridger," said Hera. "Sabine Wren, another friend, painted them. Half the people on Yavin IV right now wouldn't be alive without these two."

"I wouldn't," said the Princess quietly.

"What happened to them?" asked Luke.

A lot, she thought. Oppression, injustice, the Empire. But ultimatively - "Darth Vader," she said.

For a moment, Luke Skywalker just stared at her with eyes of unfathomable blue. "I am sorry for your loss," he said simply.

"Not only mine," she said. Darth Vader had happened to all of them. To the crew. Zeb, Ezra, Sabine. To Kanan. To Alderaan.

The kid looked over at the smuggler, and then something unexpected happened. Han Solo, who Hera had pegged as at least a little tone-deaf, cleared his throat. "Let's go get these recordings, then," he told his Wookie companion. "Though I'd bet you can't see a thing on them, damn reverse glare polarization…"

They wandered off, and it was just Leia, Luke, and Hera now, that infernal video loop still playing overhead. Hera switched it off.

"I've been meaning to ask, but I didn't get a chance," said the Princess quietly. "How is Master Jarrus? Any news?"

Was she for _real_?

"Unchanged," said Hera. And with that, everything was said about the topic. It had been two years. Kanan was not going to get better. His locked-in brain would eventually catch up with that fact.

But even in that on-going, unprocessed pain that accompanied all thoughts of Kanan, Hera had to admit there were worse things. At least Ryloth still existed in this galaxy.

Hera had witnessed the Princess' brief report, and now she watched her from the side. Nineteen years. She'd been tortured and sentenced to death on board the Death Star. She'd witnessed the destruction of her home planet, and shortly thereafter, she'd bullied her wannabe rescuers into actually rescuing her. And now, only days later, she'd helped coordinate an unlikely victory over the Death Star, led through a victory celebration, and now inquired about the health of a man she'd met twice in her life, only because she had manners.

"Who's Master Jarrus?" asked the wonder boy.

"Someone you should probably meet when he's better," said Hera. It wasn't going to happen, so best not make a promise, she thought, but she remembered how badly Ezra had done without Kanan.

Yes, Luke should better meet him, or someone like him.

But one problem at the time, she thought. The Princess looked so alone, even among friends. Was she even a princess anymore, without Alderaan? Was she doing okay? _How to even ask_?

"Princess Leia," she said carefully. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

"That's not it," said the Princess after a moment, caught off-guard – she'd been staring out the observation window. "I'm sorry, but that's not the question anyone should be asking."

"Then what is?" asked Hera.

The Princess turned towards her. "Is there anything we _could have done_?" she added. "To save Alderaan. I mean –" She looked so helpless. "We even had a list of likely targets. Alderaan and Lothal and Ryloth and Bothawui and Kashyyyk. After all the Empire has done to us, how come we never actually expected they'd do _this_ , too?"

Princess Leia Organa, asking the important question, days too late. "And if we had," she continued, "what then? You can't evacuate a whole planet in that timeframe."

"I can't answer that, I'm sorry," said Hera.

"We must make it known," said the Princess. "They will try to spin it as something the Alliance did. We must make sure that the truth gets out there, and then, and _then_ – surely no being in this galaxy can justify this, can they? No-one can refuse to take sides now. Not after this. And so the rebellion grows, it must, it _must_."

There it was, the world of pain that the Princess had shielded herself from in her cocoon of responsibilities, and it was still not quite crashing down around her. But deeply woven in there, there was something Hera had missed it for a while.

Hope.

That was why they were here.

"We did get Han to pick a side," the kid piped up, "and if we managed to convince _him_ –"

It might have been the wrong thing to say, too little, too soon. But that was also what the rebellion was: People. One by one by one.

The princess looked at her companion almost fondly. "I thought it impossible, too," she said.

To Hera she said, with a glance at the video screen, "I'm going to order the evacuation. Just in case. You and I have seen what Vader can do all by himself." She managed a half smile. "And the party is nearly over, anyway. Come, Luke."

Hera was looking after the unlikely pair, the Princess of Alderaan with the farmer boy from Tatooine trailing after her. She thought about taking the kid in. He'd be great on the _Ghost_. Her and Kanan had always taken in the strays. But not anymore.

And maybe it was the Princess' turn to gain a family.


End file.
